Prudence
by In Dreams
Summary: Hermione Granger simply doesn't make errors in judgement. Draco Malfoy knows otherwise... and he isn't willing to let her forget. DMHG, now extended into multiple chapters.
1. Chapter 1

A bit of a one-shot that stumbled into me as I attempted to focus on a group project. Hopefully now that it's fleshed out I'll be able to get some work done.

It turned out quite like I'd hoped, which is rare, for me. If you enjoy, review :) It's a simple concept. Thanks!

I hate disclaiming, as it always seems to ruin the pre-fiction anticipation, but even so, I don't own any of this.

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Hermione settled into a seat in the far back of the library; the area no one ever really went. The books back here were ancient, and written mostly in Latin; the only people that attempted to decipher them were those doing independent research studies, and those were rare. This was her favourite work space.

Spreading out her arithmancy notes, Hermione brought her quill to her lips absent-mindedly as she read the assignment. Only the first day back for seventh year and Professor Vector had been cross and given them homework. Hermione felt it was deserved; most of the other students hadn't even bothered to read the summer material. She had, of course.

Even so. She sighed happily, looking around at the thick, dusty tomes. It was a thrill to be back at Hogwarts, especially this year, since she'd been made Head Girl. Not that she'd ever really had a doubt, but hadn't wanted to indulge in false hope, just in case. The only downside was that she'd have to spend much of her year working with Draco Malfoy, who had clearly bribed the school to get the position of Head Boy. She couldn't imagine his marks landed him a job of such merit.

Although, she supposed he wasn't _stupid_. Perhaps there was more than she knew.

No; Draco Malfoy was nothing more than a shell. She knew all there was to know.

She re-read the first question, sucking on her sugar quill, her recent guilty pleasure. To calculate the distance it requires for a spell aimed North at a wall approximately one kilometre away, and to deflect in a south-west direction, at what angle must the wand be positioned...

She looked up sharply, sensing a disturbance. Her heart fell and her stomach jumped, simultaneously.

He was seated at the next table over, in a chair opposite to hers, facing her. His arms crossed, he leaned back in his chair. A vision of nonchalance. His long blond hair fell across his cold, grey eyes. She hadn't even noticed him enter the area.

"What _are_ you doing here, Malfoy?" she murmured, attempting to re-focus on the question.

"Oh, to be that quill," he said, ignoring her question. "Oh please, Granger; suck on me instead?"

"You disgust me." Her tone was dismissive. She hoped he couldn't see the blush that she could feel rising to her cheeks.

"You and I both know that's a lie."

"If it's a lie, it's a bloody good one, since I believed it myself."

"Ah, the witty banter, Granger. I missed this over the summer." He was smirking. "Speaking of which, how was your summer? Chaste and wholesome, I hope? Riding bicycles down by the river and the like?"

"You are immature. My summer was quite fine; unfortunately, now I am back to dealing with you, so it certainly could have been longer."

At what angle must the wand be positioned for the spell to reach a target two metres away if it is an ordinary spell which travels–

"You missed your bloody library too much, I know you. You could put up with me for 24 hours a day as long as you could have this library," he scoffed, eyes dancing with humour.

"Malfoy I'm trying to focus," she replied, not looking up.

"Well, you wouldn't be having an easy time of that, even if my physical presence wasn't so distracting . A statement of fact, Granger. To be honest, I'm shocked to find you here. At that same bloody table. Don't you get to thinking?" He was playing with her now. Because he knew she would eventually react.

She met his eyes. They were cold and grey and bore into hers. She looked away before she could become intoxicated.

"There's nothing out of the ordinary to think about," she replied crisply, attempting once more to read through the question.

"The answer is thirty fucking degrees, Granger. Now would you speak to me?" He had betrayed his position of observer and was leaning forward, his hands on the table.

"Also nothing to talk about." She refused to look up. She felt her blush deepen, her mind overrun with the memories she could never quite eliminate.

_She was sitting at her usual table, deep in thought. Scribbling frantically on an essay due the next morning, she had hardly noticed him approach. Sixth year was turning out to be a pain; it seemed she was always behind. _

_He settled into a seat at her table, directly across from her. She glanced up, shocked as she saw him there. _

"_You're going to snap your own damn wrist off, Granger," was all he said. "Slow down; you've got time." _

"_I do not," she replied shortly, back to her essay. _

"_You're right, I was just trying to help. I was finished two weeks ago." He let out a cold 'ha'. _

"_Would you mind?" she asked, giving him a pointed look. _

"_Oh, of course." He settled into the seat, not making any efforts to leave her alone. He fell silent, staring openly at her. _

_Hermione ignored his presence quite well for the most part. That is, until he leaned forward, so far that his nose nearly touched hers. Hermione recoiled so violently she nearly threw her chair over backward. _

"_What are you doing?" she hissed. _

"_You have something in your hair," he replied, shrugging. He picked something from her hair, tossed it to the floor and leaned back again, crossing his arms. "I guess you should wash more regularly." _

_She shot him a scathing glare. _

"_I'll have you know I wash plenty; probably more regularly than you do." _

"_Oh, I doubt that. I am impeccably clean at all times." He smirked, perhaps at the thought of him being dirty. "And you're welcome, by the way. Most people would ignore something like that, under the assumption that it's impolite to point out one's flaws. I believe it's better to make them known, that way the person knows what to fix about themselves." _

"_I hardly constitute having something in one's hair as a flaw," she reasoned against her better judgement to ignore him. _

"_It represents poor health and a deteriorated state of well-being," he replied. "I would hate to see that befall you." _

"_Don't kid yourself, Malfoy; you and I both know you don't care enough about me for that," she spoke, settling down her quill. _

"_Au contraire, madame; if I did not care at all I would not be here." She narrowed her eyes, attempting to read between the lines. _

"_Please leave me alone," she sighed, picking up her quill once more. _

"_Fine," he replied loftily, pulling a book from his bag and flipping it open to a random page. _

"I'm hurt, Granger. I mean that little to you, do I?" his voice snapped Hermione out of her reverie.

"Even less." She didn't have to look at him to see that he was probably pouting like a six-year-old.

"You can't delude yourself. It's not as if you can take it back by pretending nothing happened," he commented, lounging back in his seat again.

"I most certainly can, therefore, I will."

"Oh? And what happens to poor, perfect, _virgin_ Head Girl's rep when people find out?" He snorted aloud at the thought.

"There is nothing to find out," she insisted, her voice with a warning edge to it. He shook his head, clearly enjoying himself.

"You know," he drawled. "Most girls would kill to be you. Wanted for your body by Draco Malfoy."

"_Most_ girls are self-absorbed simpletons whose greatest ambition in life is to be the arm candy of some prestigious wizard," she shot back. "And to be frank, the concept of you anywhere near my body sickens me. Hence, I'm a little sickened just at the moment."

"Your hypocrisy astounds, Granger. And I am difficult to astound, congratulations."

"Must you be such an irritating gnat at all times?" she questioned, sucking once more on the end of her quill.

"Of course not. And in fact, I am never an _irritating gnat_, you just have a very shallow concept of ordinary human relations. You know what I want, as I am a very straight-forward individual, and if you were to oblige, I would leave you alone. For now." His eyes were no longer cold, and they shone with something Hermione didn't quite recognize.

"Afraid I've no idea what you're on about."

"You're infuriating, you know? Firstly, now, all I want is for you to admit that it happened. And secondly, which was the previous firstly, before you turned into such an obnoxious cow, I wouldn't mind a repeat performance." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione fumed, looking around the library anxiously. They were still alone. He stood up, swaggering over to her table. He took a seat in the chair directly across from her. She swallowed uncomfortably, looking away from his intense stare, which was now on her.

Merlin, she could practically feel the heat rolling off his body in waves.

_She sighed angrily, glaring at him, still sitting there, innocently reading his textbook. _

"_Must you stare?" he asked, looking up, eyebrow raised. "You're going to give me a complex."_

"_Go away, Malfoy," she stated tiredly. "As much as my life is a joke to you, I need to complete this essay." _

"_Well let me read it, I'll see if I can think of anything you missed," he offered and Hermione was instantly suspicious. _

"_Why would I give it over to you?" she questioned, placing a hand over the parchment, as if to protect it. _

"_Because I want to help," he murmured, holding out a hand. "I told you I already finished, I'm not about to steal your ideas." _

"_You _never_ want to help. Are you on something?" she asked, staring at him incredulously. _

"_What am I, a Muggle? Of course I'm not _on _anything," he laughed. _

"_Oh right," she murmured, flushing red, "I suppose I take it back." _

"_Damn right. _Drugs_. How unhealthy." He scoffed. "I have a wand when I need a good high, you crazy Muggleborn." _

_Her eyes flashed. _

"_You are utterly ridiculous," she told him, looking back to her assignment._

"_Let me see your essay," he tried again, reaching for it. She swatted his hand away. He leaned back in his seat again, watching her closely, a curious smile playing across his lips. _

_Hermione tried to ignore him, becoming more flustered as she did so. He stubbornly refused to look anywhere else, and that smile was driving her mad. Driving her insane. She wasn't sure which. Both. _

_Ignorance turned out to be a bad idea, as she went so out of her way to avoid looking at him that she accidentally knocked over her nearly full ink well, spilling ink all over her newly completed essay parchment. _

"_Oh fuck me," she murmured angrily, drawing her wand to attempt to remove the offending medium. _

"_Gladly," he spoke in reply, and before Hermione could even raise her wand, he had leaned forward, crushing his lips hard to hers, digging a hand deep into her wild head of curls. _

Hermione swallowed once more, clearing her head of the memories.

"Your closeness grows directly in proportion with the unease in my stomach," she spoke quietly, writing down her arithmancy situation on a sheet of parchment.

"I already told you the answer was thirty," he reminded her.

"Am I to believe you are telling the truth? And besides, even if you are, Professor Vector wants us to show how we achieve the answer," she scolded.

"And the unease in _my_ stomach grows in direct proportion with your eagerness to perform in the classroom, how coincidental," he mocked, smirking.

"At least I care more about my performance in the classroom than in the bedroom, unlike someone seated at this table. This is a school, not a brothel, Malfoy, in case you missed the memo," she shot back.

"You've got such a case of denial over that swollen head of yours it's hilarious. You speak so fondly of my performance in the bedroom," he teased. Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"I try not to think about you like that," she said, convulsing exaggeratedly to prove her point.

"Oh I know, it was hard making it through the summer. For me, too. If it helps, I pictured every girl I was with as having your hair," he murmured, leaning in. "And your book sense. But I'm here, you don't need to hold back anymore."

"Oh, I won't," she lifted a hand, preparing to slap him and he just laughed.

"Merlin you're hot when you're about to inflict physical damage upon me," he let out a low whistle. "I am _so_ turned on."

"I guess you'll need to find one of your hybrid Whore-mione's to help you out with that," she said, smiling.

"That was clever, I like it," he stated. "But I think rather, now that you're here I won't need to make do with any second rate females. Of course, that is when you finally admit how much you want me."

"Oh good, then it'll never happen."

He just looked at her, his grey eyes burning into hers. She glared back, recognizing the challenge for what it was. Slowly, he ran his tongue over his lower lip. He smirked as she instantly blushed red.

"That's what I thought."

_Hermione let out a muffled shriek as she immediately hopped up to push him away. She pried his fingers out of her hair, looking around the library awkwardly. _

_He stood, leaning forward over the table, resting his hands on the wood. The bastard had the nerve to smirk at her. _

"_What are you doing?" she asked furiously, her voice an octave higher than usual. _

"_You told me to fuck you," he shrugged. _

"_It was an expression!" _

"_I've always been big into literal meanings," he reasoned, licking his lips. _

"_You are such a filthy prat," she fumed. _

"_I'll show you how filthy I am." _

"_Thought you were impeccably clean at all times?"_

"_Completely different sorts of dirty." _

_They stared at one another, in some bizarre standoff, for what felt like years to Hermione. Finally she jerked away from his intense gaze, packing her things into her bag, preparing to leave. When she looked back up he was there, next to her, too close._

_She froze, suddenly terrified of him and his eyes. _

"_Granger, I've been watching you," he murmured, quietly. "You're walking such a narrow rope that it's bound to just snap one of these days. You need some serious stress relief." _

"_What do you want from me?" she asked. Her voice faltered and she hated it. _

_He evaluated her for a moment. He lifted one hand, trailing it lightly across her hip, around to the small of her back. Suddenly he pulled forward and Hermione felt herself pressed against his body._

_She mentally screamed at her legs to run, to carry her as far from this madman as she could. She couldn't look away. _

"_I want," he whispered, leaning in toward her ear, "to help you relieve some stress." His syllables were so crisp, his behaviour so unexpected, that Hermione didn't know what to think. Suddenly she found her senses. _

"_This is ridiculous," she stated calmly, attempting to untangle herself from him. _

"_Oh come off it," he scoffed. "You think it's nothing for me to admit how badly I crave you? To watch you in classes, wishing I could make you forget how badly you hate me? Wondering why the fuck I even want you at all?"_

_She stared at him, aghast, mouth slightly open. _

"_Surely you must be lying," she stated, unsure if it was to herself or to him._

"_Surely you know I'm not." _

_And then he kissed her again, the same urgent passion behind it. His free hand trailed up her back, her neck, pulling her closer still. Hermione stood, hopelessly unresponsive, as she wasn't entirely sure what had just happened. Was currently happening. _

_Draco pulled back, biting almost painfully on her lower lip, before he sighed. _

"_Look Granger, just because you aren't the snogging expert that I am, doesn't mean–"_

_He was cut off to find Hermione's lips back on his, and she was suddenly kissing him like it meant her life, and he kissed her back like it meant his, and then it was a desperate battle that went beyond words. _

"Admit it, Granger," he was saying, "you can't stop hoping it'll happen again. _That's_ why you chose to work in this same place."

"I happen to like the silence," she murmured, shooting him a glare.

"To be honest with you, I had initially thought that if I just got you out of my system I could move on. After all, you aren't my usual type." It was as if he'd completely ignored what she had just said. He probably had.

"Your usual type being ridiculously stupid, big-breasted, blonde, Slytherin bimbos, preferably at least two years older than you," she listed off flippantly. She tossed her hair as if to emphasize its brunette shade.

"That's mostly true," he agreed without hesitation. "I sometimes go for girls outside of my own house of Slytherin. And _then_, of course, you don't fit the bill on any of those counts. Well, your rack isn't bad."

She couldn't figure out if he was insulting or complimenting her.

"But hey, if my instinct says, 'shag Hermione Granger,' I should probably listen to it, no?" He raised his eyebrows, looking to her for her opinion.

"You should probably ignore it. May you have better luck than I have ignoring you."

"You're painfully stubborn. I would hate that about you if it weren't for the fact that it makes me into putty. Mold me into something of your creation, please?" He was being overly dramatic; Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You don't want that, I'd make you into a hunchbacked cyclops with poor fashion sense," she advised. By now she had all but given up attempting her arithmancy until he was gone.

"Or worse," he agreed. "At least I would be yours."

"Only until I disown you. Drop you into Goyle's dinner plate or something."

He visibly shuddered, shaking his head.

"Honestly, Granger. I want you, I _know_ you want me, much as you deny it; why shouldn't we go off and shag one another gratuitously into the Russian literature section?"

She was a little taken aback by his new, more forward tactical method of persuasion. She didn't respond, unintentionally biting the end off of her sugar quill.

"See, you have no reason not to," he exclaimed, taking her silence as an admittance of defeat. Hermione bit her lip, making the mistake of looking into his eyes. Now he had her trapped, and he knew it.

_He'd had her trapped, her back against the sturdy bookcase. With each kiss, each feverish touch of his hands on her, Hermione felt herself spin out into delirium. The best way to reason what she was doing was to ignore all reason, she had decided. _

_He had peeled off her robes at some point between the table and the bookcase, and was sucking at the delicate skin just above the curve of her breast. He'd loosened enough buttons of her shirt to expose her modest, but attractive bra. _

_She bit her lip, for fear she may start speaking in tongues or something similarly embarrassing. She'd had no idea a boy could make her feel like this. At least, no other boy she'd ever kissed had been quite as talented as Draco Malfoy._

_He was back at her lips, and the side of herself that she had surrendered her conscious thought to was loosening his tie, loving the feel of the silver and green silk, unbuttoning his shirt._

_She felt his fingers between her legs, moaning in anticipation; he had pushed her skirt up out of the way and was allowing himself free reign of her thighs. _

_It sort of tickled, just a little, and then ... oh, Merlin. What was he..._

_Hermione bucked against his fingers. She let out a cry and Draco silenced her with his lips. Some vague part of her consciousness still noticing detail could tell he was smirking. She felt her hands undoing his belt buckle, trembling. _

_Her legs were around his waist... there was a spot of discomfort..._

_He was kissing her, working her into a rhythm, touching her everywhere... Hermione couldn't remember where she was... and who was he?..._

_Oh yes, he was Malfoy... no he wasn't – he was – he was... was not – he – _

"_Draco!" The scream wrenched from her own throat brought her back down. _

The last time he'd had her trapped she had lost her virginity to Draco Malfoy, up against a bookshelf. She'd had the bruises for weeks. The memories were so vivid she hadn't trusted herself to speak.

He'd kissed her one last time, dressed and walked away with a smirk at her expression.

When she'd seen him the next day in class, he was completely unaffected. She'd assumed he still was.

She'd assumed wrong, if the current look in his eye said anything.

"Think about it, Granger," he murmured then. He leaned his chair back, resting his shoes on the table. "Think about me, at night, when you try to sleep. You'll touch yourself, and you'll breathe my name, and then you'll come to me."

"I'm leaving," she said quickly. She felt the blood rising in her cheeks. Felt what his words were doing to her mind, to her body, and she hated it. Hated him for it. She threw her things into her bag hastily, standing, about to walk away.

"If that's what you want. I'll be here."

She paused. She looked back at him.

His eyes were devouring her.

It would be a long year.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** The first thing I have to say is that this was a long time in the making. The idea for a sequel only came about through feedback requesting one. Once I started writing, it became evident that a sequel will not do, and therefore this will end up being 4-5 chapters in length, provided it receives positive feedback.

This is finally posted today, on my seven-year anniversary of being on ffnet, since a friend reminded me how important the number seven is in the world of Harry Potter. Please review, they will allow me to feel this was worthwhile. I cannot guarantee when the third installment will be up, but reviews are highly inspirational (and lovely, heart-warming gifts). ;)

Please enjoy!

-

When she couldn't sleep, Hermione ran. She had taken to running with a passion that she could have never imagined, and it became an almost daily activity in her life.

October had been unseasonably warm and Hermione had been feeling unexpected levels of stress. Stress from her schoolwork, her duties as Head Girl, from the continuous tragic stories on the front page of the _Prophet_. And the last issue, which she would admit to herself only begrudgingly; Draco Malfoy.

The Slytherin had been after her all year, since that encounter in the library on the first day of seventh year. At first he had tried to engage her in conversation, and when that was unsuccessful, he had changed tactics. Hermione had been relieved; she hated to think how close she had come to giving in to his charms.

But his new strategy had proven worse: he would simply watch her. In the hallways, in class, in the library. His grey eyes aglow and his lips curved into a scintillating smile. It was positively indecent, and had flustered Hermione on more than one occasion.

Worse than anything was the fact that Hermione could just _tell_ that he was going out of his way to be polite to her. As if he could make her forget her hatred for him. He hadn't spoken one harsh word to her all year.

And it was working. He was starring in her dreams more often than not, and Hermione frequently awoke in the middle of the night, an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach, and that look in his eyes lingering in her head.

And so she ran. She could trust her body, if not her mind, to forget about him as she surrendered herself to the rhythmic pounding of her feet on the hard ground. She much preferred the rapid heartbeat of physical exertion to that of sexual containment.

It was on one particular morning in the middle of October that she had awoke to one of these dreams. Unable to fall back asleep, the rest of her dorm mates still in a deep slumber, Hermione crept out to the grounds with her transfigured sneakers and running shorts.

She pushed herself to the edge, forcing herself to run until she reached the point of physical exhaustion just as the sun began to rise. She stopped as she reached the shore of the lake, watching the bright colours take over the morning sky as her breathing slowed down.

"Good morning," a voice murmured, causing Hermione to jump in surprise. A deep, smooth, familiar voice.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, turning to the location of the voice. He was there, lounging against a tree, watching the sunrise. "Were you following me?"

"Now why would I want to follow you? I didn't even know you were out here. Perhaps you followed me?" He raised a blond brow. "Why don't you come sit?" He had that look in his eyes, and it did nothing to help her resolve, even having ran the dream from her head.

She eyed him warily from her standing position.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he rolled his eyes. "Have a seat, you look drained."

"You didn't answer my question; what are you doing here?" She didn't move closer but her expression softened.

"I was watching the sunrise." It was such a simple answer that it threw Hermione off. "I can see you were expecting something else. Something more villainous perhaps."

Unwillingly, she smiled.

"Perhaps," she murmured in reply.

"You thought I would admit to hatching a diabolical plan for your imminent seduction," he said thoughtfully. He grinned wickedly. "Why would I ever admit something like that to you?"

"So I could get my guard up, and prepare to spurn these seductive advances."

"Precisely the reason I wouldn't tell you." He shot her _that_ grin, and her stomach flopped. "Sit, Granger."

Against her own will, she slowly walked over, taking a seat next to him on the cold ground.

"Good girl," he whispered, his eyes slipping shut. "My turn. What brings _you_ out here so early?" He opened his eyes once more, gazing at her. His eyes were reflecting the colours of the rising sun, and Hermione had to look away.

"I was running," she admitted, biting her lip. If she had any sense at all, she would have continued right on running away from him. "I couldn't sleep."

"I see that," he agreed, observing the thin sheen of perspiration on her face, the running shoes on her feet. Hermione suddenly became conscious of how she must appear and looked away. "What is it that you are running _from, _Granger?"

She blinked, at a momentary loss for words. She settled on a modified version of the truth.

"I run to escape the pressure and stress in my life," she said, settling against a tree next to his. He watched her, silent for a moment. Then he sighed.

"I envy you the ease of your escape," he finally said. "I could never run far enough or fast enough to get away from my problems."

Hermione shifted slightly. She wasn't used to Draco Malfoy as such a thoughtful being. It made her uncomfortable, and a little intrigued.

"Have you tried running?" she questioned. "It's a great release."

"I know of a better release," he muttered under his breath but Hermione heard anyway. She rolled her eyes and Draco laughed. "I've tried everything, Granger. Reading, exercise, music... hell, I've tried Muggle sleeping pills. It doesn't change the fact that I haven't had a full night of sleep since I was fourteen."

Her brows shot up, not wanting to believe he was telling the truth.

"How is that possible?" she asked, skeptical.

"Granger, when you've seen what I have, sleep fails to come easily." He smiled wryly at her, re-positioning himself so that the sun would shine directly on him.

"Maybe that's a sign that you're living on the wrong side," she said softly. She wasn't sure how far she would be able to push him.

"It isn't as if I ever had much of a choice in the matter, Granger," he growled. His grey eyes flashed. "I was born to this, it was _dictated_ in my blood."

Hermione shivered, wondering how she was suddenly discussing war allegiances with Draco Malfoy.

"Why don't you leave? It isn't too late to switch sides." He rolled his eyes, laughing coldly.

"There are so many things that you just don't know, Granger. And things you will never understand."

The way he spoke so casually about the topic, aloof and relaxed, sent a tingle through her spine. She observed him; indeed, he looked more tired than usual. Or maybe she just knew what to look for now. He had dark circles beneath his eyes, standing out against his pale skin. His light hair was ruffled, whether by accident or design she couldn't say.

His soft lips curved into a tantalizing frown... and his grey eyes, now sparkling brighter from the sun as it continued to rise, with an intense depth to them.

"Not that I am about to judge you for it, but is there a reason you are checking me out?" Draco had turned to watch her, his lips now in a smirk. Hermione flushed red, looking away immediately.

"I was not," she muttered, avoiding his gaze.

"I don't believe you," he replied. "At all. But I'll pretend as if I forgot it happened. Now, tell me what's on your mind."

"What do you mean?" she asked. "There isn't anything on my mind."

"Well you're dying to say something." He turned back away from her. "I've been in school with you for seven years, I know that look."

"I suppose..." He gave her a pointed look when she stopped speaking. "I was just curious how you are being so tolerable right now." She flushed as she said the words, and even darker when he smirked in amusement.

"You think I'm being tolerable? I'll certainly have to do something about that." He smiled to himself, as if over some private joke. "Granger, this is how I always am. You just typically choose to overlook it."

Hermione was silent, frowning as she thought over his words.

"Why?" his eyes flashed. "Does it turn you on?"

"No it doesn't." She swallowed heavily.

Hermione's heart suddenly leaped into overdrive as he moved in, closer than she was comfortable with, his hot breath on her ear. She held perfectly still, trying to force herself to feel something other than anticipation.

"Liar," he breathed, and Hermione shivered. Everything about him was so sensual she couldn't focus. Without conscious thought, she turned to face him and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were dark, glaring into hers. His lips, slightly parted, were mere centimetres from hers.

His expression shifted, his gaze became intent, his eyes smouldering dark secrets of promise into hers.

She knew he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to.

The thought fell over her hazy mind like a bucket of cold water and she stiffened, leaning away from him. Draco frowned at her change in demeanor, but didn't move away.

"Why do you deny yourself this?" he murmured, holding her eyes to his. "_How_ do you deny it?"

Hermione knew what he meant. There was an electrical force between them, stronger now than ever. It ran through her head, pulsed across her skin. It was pushing her, none too gently, to lean in and close the gap between them.

She couldn't answer him. It was all she could manage to ignore the need for him. If she kissed him now, with real intent, she could not go back to pretending there wasn't an elephant standing over her at all times. Every day she berated herself for that weakness in the library last year.

But here she was, fighting rippling waves of desire to do it again.

Her posture had softened again; she screamed at her body as it leaned to him of its own accord. She wetted her dry lips.

He lifted a hand to her cheek, digging it into her unruly hair, fallen loose of its ponytail. Her skin stung with energy where he had made contact.

This was the moment to decide. If his lips touched hers, she knew she would be able to fight no longer.

His mouth descended on hers before she made up her mind. His lips were soft on hers, but probing, full of fire. Hermione shuddered, pitching forward to him as she wound her hands into his hair. He bit down on her lower lip, and she groaned as her tongue became entangled with his.

Hermione couldn't remember why she had ever wanted to prevent this from happening, as she pulled him even closer, feeling his hard muscles pressed against her, desperately kissing him, entirely caught up.

He moved to straddle her, one hand on her hip, the other cupping the back of her neck. Suddenly a sharp pain shot through her skull as her head smashed into the trunk of the tree behind her. She pulled away, wincing as she felt the tender skin.

"Ow," she muttered, meeting his amused gaze.

"My bad," Draco replied, grinning. "You alright?"

Hermione froze. His smile was genuine, unlike any she had ever seen, and it lit her soul and terrified her at once. Her actions hit her.

"I--" she paused. "I'd better go."

The smile vanished instantly, replaced with disdain.

"Of course." He sneered. "Wouldn't want your golden friends to find you here whoring yourself out."

His words hurt more than she expected they might have. Unable to generate a response, Hermione extracted herself from beneath him and fled, heart pounding furiously.

-

Hermione rarely received owl post. But that morning at breakfast she looked up in surprise as an elegant black owl dropped a sheet of parchment into her eggs, before quickly flying off.

The surprise quickly turned to dread as she looked up to notice Malfoy glaring at her from across the hall. Swallowing heavily, she opened the parchment.

_I am tired of your games, Granger, and I will not wait patiently for you much longer. If this is how you are going to play, do not expect me to fight fair. _

It wasn't signed. It didn't need to be. Frowning, she crumpled the letter into a ball and shoved it to the bottom of her bag, determined to ignore it.

"Everything alright, Hermione?" Harry had looked over at her bizarre behaviour.

"Just fine, thanks," she replied, forcing a smile. She made it through the rest of breakfast without once looking at the blond, not willing to let him know how badly he got to her.

She ignored him studiously for the rest of the day, hoping he would soon go back to normal.

He didn't. The owls continued.

-

_Ignore me if you like, Granger. But do not expect me to forget yesterday morning. I know you want me and it will only be a matter of time before I have you. And I _will_ have you. _

_-_

_I won't be backing down. This is a game to me, a game which frustrates the hell out of you. Why would I? _

_-_

_I notice you haven't been running lately. Don't tell me you're afraid of what I might do if you run into me again. Because it isn't me you need to worry about – it's your own mutinous, teenage hormones. _

_-_

_I hope you've been dreaming about me. I hope it's driving you insane. How does deprivation feel, Granger?_

_-_

_Hey Gryffindor, picture me naked. Now look up, because I'm across the hall laughing at your reaction._

This was the last straw. Not once had she sunk low enough to respond to his stupid, taunting letters. She had crumpled each one, thrown them into her bag and burnt the evidence in the fire each evening, pretending as if she wasn't hurt by his callous and malicious words.

But she had felt herself snap just now. She abruptly stood from breakfast, ignoring the curious looks around her, and stormed out the far set of doors, shooting a significant glare at Malfoy as she passed the Slytherin table. He was smirking, and rolled his eyes at her furious expression. From her peripheral vision, Hermione saw him take a last bite of toast and follow at a distance.

Once outside of the hall she spun on him.

"Just _what_ is your problem, Malfoy?" she asked, waving the letter in his face.

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and guided her into an empty classroom while he set up silencing wards. Then he stared at her, his lips curved into a frown.

"Well?" she huffed in frustration. "Is this _funny_ to you? Do you _enjoy_ grating on my nerves at every possible opportunity? I have been going out of my way not to sink to your level of immaturity, which frankly, as Head Boy, you--"

"Shut _up_, Granger," he muttered finally. "_You_ are my fucking problem, alright?"

"Obviously," she snorted, the rage dissipating as she glared at him in irritation.

"Did I not tell you to shut up?" Every aspect of her body language was displaying hostility toward him but she fell silent. "I cannot get you out of my head, and it's driving me up the _bloody_ wall." Hermione assessed him, her eyes narrowed.

"So why the stupid letters?" she asked, still clutching the most recent piece of parchment. He shrugged.

"To get your attention. Worked, didn't it?" He grinned and she gaped. "I knew eventually you would snap on me. You were never going to ignore me forever."

"This was the most obnoxious of your plans yet," she informed him, lighting the letter on fire with her wand.

"I wouldn't care if I'd driven you to come after me with a bludgeon," he said lightly. "It accomplished what it meant to. Here you are, alone with me in a locked room, completely fired up. It's such a thrill."

Hermione froze for a moment, taking in his words. He was right; for all her anger he had managed to trap her here. She fumed silently for a moment, glancing around the room.

"You aren't going to do anything to me," she murmured at last, cursing her voice for shaking.

"Won't I?" he asked, brows raised. "I told you I wasn't going to play fair."

Hermione felt a true flash of fear. "You wouldn't."

"You're right," Malfoy admitted finally. Then he winked. "I won't do anything to you against your will Granger. Of course, that holds very little merit, since I know that you do want me, almost as much as I want you."

"Not everything is about sex, Malfoy!" she burst out, her tone bordering desperate. "This, least of all. This, suddenly, is about you completely and entirely overstepping your boundaries with me."

"This is _completely and entirely_ about sex." He was mocking her. "Sex is at the heart of every situation, Granger."

"Maybe in your sick, convoluted idea of reality," she went on, shaking her head. "You're disgusting."

"There is no crime in a little self gratification," he denied. "To be honest with you, Granger, you have nothing to prove to me by being such a self-righteous little Gryffindor. I _know_ what you really are, or did you forget?"

His eyes flashed and Hermione glared at him, suddenly caught up in the heat emanating from him. He took a step closer to her and his cologne nearly intoxicated her.

"I know you feel like you're failing yourself by even considering this." He paused, smiling at her expression, knowing he'd hit home. "I don't judge. I won't tell anyone. And trust me, if it was possible, I would have moved on long ago. There is something about you, Granger, that just gets to me. I can't get that day out of my head, especially knowing how damn good it was, and how badly you want it too."

"I'm not going to deny anything you just said," Hermione said quietly, realizing there was nothing she _could_ deny. "But like I said, this is about more than sex. Self gratification is not a reason for me to do something that feels wrong. With you, of all people."

"What would make it feel right?" His tone was so quiet she almost had to strain to hear. But his grey eyes were honest, intent.

She did not want to admit the answer to that question. It would be like surrendering herself, baring her soul, letting him in on her darkest secrets. But she was just so tired of fighting him.

"Just tell me, Granger. It can't be that bad." He was gazing at her now, eyes narrowed.

"It would feel right if it felt real," she whispered, eyes tightly closed.

"Are you saying you don't think this feels--" he broke off, catching on. "Oh. _Oh_."

"Yes, oh," she muttered angrily. "I'm not you, Malfoy, I'm not experienced enough to feel _nothing_ when you touch me."

"Why the hell would you want that, Granger? I am the opposite of your type." He ran a hand through his hair anxiously.

"I don't know," she admitted honestly. "I can't figure it out. Since that morning outside. But you said yourself you can't stop thinking about me."

"I don't date." He was staring at her, exasperated.

"Is that the answer from your head or your libido?" she smiled slightly. His eyes narrowed; she was taunting him, picking at his weakness. After what felt like forever, he sighed heavily.

"Let me take you on a date, then," he muttered gruffly, almost angrily. Despite herself, Hermione laughed out loud.

"I can't imagine anything less sincere." He rolled his eyes.

"Don't push me. You're the one who wants this. And you _can't_ tell anyone." His grey eyes flashed.

"Oh, maybe you'll have fun," she scolded, suddenly enjoying watching him squirm.

"Is that a yes?" he asked, rather impatiently.

"Of course, you arse."

"Fine then, I'll take you to Hogsmeade this weekend. And then you will fuck me," he eyed her warily. "I'm not going to be the only one living up to my end."

"You'll have to make sure I enjoy myself if you expect to get anywhere near my knickers," she told him, smiling. For an instant, she wondered if his eyes would actually burn a hole through her. "But yes."

"I will never understand your reasoning for this." He sighed, resolute. "Eight o'clock this Saturday. Be ready for the best fucking night of your life, Granger."

With that he spun on his heel and was out of the room before Hermione could even wonder what she had just done.


	3. Chapter 3

Look at that, a third chapter of Prudence! I apologize for the wait- things have been hectic, though the response to chapter two was overwhelming! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and alerted. And in all fairness, this is nearly 7000 words, my longest single installment to date.

This is dedicated to my dear friend and inspiration, silvia elisa, without whom this would still have been an idea.

Oh, and don't hate me, review, review, and there will be more! They really do mean the world!

-----------

It was Thursday, and if Hermione didn't know better, she would have been prepared to believe that time itself had slowed to an agonizing pace. The only thing that had occupied her mind for three days had been her illegitimate date with Draco Malfoy.

The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if she hadn't somehow gone insane. Firstly, why on earth did she agree to sleep with him if he took her out? She had not even realized she wanted to date him. And she didn't have the slightest clue why she would want to date him.

Obviously, he was not behaving like the spoiled, irritating pure-blooded prat he had been for years, but that did not mean she was allowed to develop any sort of attraction to him, just because he had kissed her a few times, and taken advantage of her once.

Willing advantage. But advantage nonetheless.

And furthermore, why would he agree? A part of Hermione expected he would still back out at the last minute. After all, Draco Malfoy certainly had a reputation to maintain. If anyone learned that he was taking her to Hogsmeade this weekend, real or not, his reputation would be demolished.

Not that Hermione minded. It was a disgusting reputation anyway.

She thought that was part of the reason she had requested he take her out. He wasn't used to making an effort, and if he wanted _her_, he would need to make one hell of an effort. It was a matter of principle.

Hermione definitely did not know what to expect. In classes he had been abnormally attentive, ignoring her for the most part. The only time she had managed to catch his eye, on the way out of arithmancy, he had merely winked and walked off.

Stunned, Hermione hadn't realized she was watching him walk off, following his graceful lope with her eyes, until a group of fourth years had hurried past, causing her to blush horrendously at having been staring at his arse.

Frustrated, she had continued on her way, beyond relieved he hadn't caught her.

Friday morning she could no longer handle it and went for a run, determined to erase him from her thoughts. October had dropped into colder temperatures, and the cold air did wonders for her frazzled mind.

As she neared the lake, however, her thoughts drifted. He was there, his hands behind his head, oblivious to the cold ground he was laying upon. His eyes were closed, his expression that of contentment. Hermione slowed to a stop, watching him. It was different, seeing him without his usual collection of hostile, guarded expressions.

It somehow felt too intimate, and Hermione turned to go.

"Granger," he murmured, cracking an eye open. "It's been a while."

"It's been three days," she shot back, maintaining her distance.

He sat up, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

"Has it only been three? The anticipation's been killing me, what about you?" he smirked at her, his grey eyes dancing.

"Something like that," she replied evasively.

"Oh, listen, Granger. While I've got you here," he stood up, shaking himself out. "About our little _date_ tomorrow."

He said the word as if he didn't know what to do with it.

"Yes, what about it?" Hermione tensed. She had been sure he would find some reason to cancel. Maybe this was it. She felt oddly nervous.

"Make sure you don't eat dinner." It was anti-climactic, and Hermione was expecting something else. He noticed. "What, were you thinking I was going to back out?" The smirk was back in place, and he stepped toward her.

"I have been thinking you would," she admitted, standing her ground.

"Think again, doll. I wouldn't miss this for anything," he murmured, and Hermione had to strain to hear as he went on. "And you probably shouldn't try to get out of it either. I don't do things halfway, Granger, and I _will_ be inside you tomorrow night, date or not."

He had moved so close that Hermione felt her breathing hitch in her throat at his words, her face flushing.

"My expectations are very high, Malfoy," she shot back, unable to keep herself from sounding breathy.

He laughed, moving in even closer, until Hermione found herself backed against a tree.

"Rest assured, I will be blowing your expectations out of the fucking water, Granger." He was glaring at her.

She couldn't look away from his eyes, she could taste his cool breath, and she could feel his muscled body against hers. He dug a hand into her hair, bringing his mouth to her ear.

"That's a guarantee," he whispered, with a bite to her earlobe.

With that he swept away toward the castle, leaving Hermione's body ready and waiting, and her mind completely wrecked. With a sharp exhale, she continued her run with renewed vigour, now with a new encounter to rid from her head.

-

Though Hermione wasn't certain it would ever arrive, Saturday evening was suddenly upon her, and she had no idea what to wear.

If she made no effort he would act as the wounded party, making her feel as if she had misled him. And, technically, she didn't have to worry about giving him the wrong impression. That little detail was conveniently bypassed by the fact that he was already expecting her to sleep with him.

Finally she recalled an outfit that her mother had smuggled into her trunk without Hermione's notice; if she had it certainly would not have taken the space available for books.

She dressed in the skirt and lace top, with a cardigan sweater, inwardly thankful that the rest of her dorm-mates were at dinner. With a touch of make-up, she left the dorm, trying to ignore the wild swooping of nerves in her stomach.

As she walked, she realized she had no idea what to expect. Was he going to behave properly, or act as if he was only there because he wanted to get her in bed? She wasn't sure whether he actually felt anything for her at all, other than lust. And she found herself wondering why she _wanted_ him to care.

"Daydreaming, Granger?" he taunted, and Hermione jumped as she realized he had been standing behind her, leaning against the wall.

"Just thinking," she replied lightly. "Wondering if you made any effort for this at all."

"You'll have to wait and see, won't you?" he smirked, suddenly in her face. "Let's go, we'll be late."

He held out his arm, and she took it, surprised, as he led her to the entrance.

"We ought to sign ourselves out on the ledger," Hermione said, turning back.

"Already taken care of," he muttered. "We are visiting Hogsmeade on duty as Head students."

"Somehow I don't think that is entirely believable," she laughed. "On a Saturday night?" He stared at her momentarily, shaking his head, before he continued walking.

"We are retrieving ingredients for the potions master. They can only be harvested on the night of the full moon." He winked, and Hermione, seeing how his plot had suddenly become believable, only smiled.

He helped her into a carriage, following after, and taking a seat quite close to Hermione, though there was plenty of space.

"One day you will learn not to underestimate me, doll." He ran a hand down her arm, and Hermione shivered. "Maybe that day will be today."

"Perhaps if you stopped calling me 'doll' I would have an easier time of that," she replied softly, giving him a sarcastic smile.

"I don't expect you to understand that I _am_ trying," he stated, leaning back and closing his eyes. "What would you prefer? Pumpkin? Sweetheart?" He grimaced.

"Hermione would be fine," she said.

"Ah, no can do. I cannot say that word," he shook his head matter-of-factly. "Anything but that."

"I have no problem saying 'Draco'," she contradicted.

"But doesn't it feel _weird_?" he shot back. His expression changed as he looked at her. "I could call you beautiful. You are, stunningly so, tonight."

Her stomach jumped and she felt a blush creep into her cheeks as she looked away from him.

"You don't look so terrible yourself," she finally replied, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Thanks, sugar," he grinned. Hermione shut her eyes, rubbing her temples at his new attempt.

"How about you don't call me anything?" she suggested, smiling.

"I'll think of something," he retorted, winking. "After all, I'll need something to call you later on. Oh good, we're here."

He jumped from the now still carriage, and before Hermione could contemplate a quick retreat, he reached in for her hand to help her down. Despite herself, she took his hand, trying to ignore the shocks of energy that shot through her arm at his touch. This meant nothing. It was not a real date.

He pulled her toward the Three Broomsticks, and Hermione snorted.

"This is your deluxe dinner plan? Butterbeers?" Draco laughed, grinning.

"You caught me. I decided to go casual," he murmured, his eyes twinkling. He let go of her hand and held the door open for her.

As soon as Hermione walked in, she doubled back.

"We must have walked into the wrong building," she said, confused.

"No, this is right," he said, pushing her slightly back into the restaurant. "I asked a favour of Rosmerta."

Hermione gaped, looking back around her. The small building was completely re-decorated, high-class and gorgeous, and totally devoid of people. There was only one table, and Draco led her towards it, pulling a seat out for her and sitting on the other side. As he took off his coat, revealing his fitted black sweater, Hermione was forced to tear her gaze from him.

"You shut this place down to the public?" she whispered, shocked.

"You'd be surprised what a little money does." He winked, turning to Rosmerta who had just arrived.

"Good evening, you two," she grinned, handing them two menus Hermione had never seen before in the establishment. Upon opening hers, she understood why.

"Since when is the Three Broomsticks fine dining?" she questioned, still numb with shock.

"Since I requested Rosmerta hire my personal chef for the evening," he responded, sipping on a glass of water. Hermione shook her head, lost of a reply.

"Of course you've got a personal chef," she muttered.

"Yes, don't you?" Draco grinned, thoroughly enjoying her reaction.

"Doesn't everyone?" she asked, sarcastically, and he laughed. It was so genuine, Hermione looked at him, thrown.

"You never put a limit on how much I could spend on you, Granger," he reminded her, pouring them both a glass of wine.

"Silly me, the thought never crossed my mind," she said quietly. "I should have known better."

"Don't punish yourself over it," he responded, pretending to ignore her tone. "And this was nothing, wait until after dinner."

Hermione groaned, flipping open the menu and scanning it. Most of this food she had never heard of before, let alone tried.

"If you want something safe, I highly recommend the Rosemary Chicken," Draco informed her, leaning over.

"That does sound good," she bit her lip, looking up to him. "What are you getting?"

"Mm, I'm not sure yet. Maybe the roast quail." Hermione looked over the menu until she found it.

"That sounds good too," she pondered, biting her lip.

"But his Chilean Sea Bass is phenomenal," Draco continued, torn.

"You aren't making this any easier," Hermione scoffed.

"Sorry," he murmured, meeting her eyes. "If you prefer, we can just skip dinner and get to bed."

"I think I'll go with the chicken," she settled, ignoring him, and closed the menu.

"You are being unintentionally amusing," he grinned. "I like this side of you."

Hermione scolded her heart for jumping at his words. They were just words, used to convince her to sleep with him. He didn't mean it.

"Well, I don't particularly want to skip dinner." She avoided his gaze, embarrassed for allowing him to get to her. When Rosmerta came she ordered the chicken, and Draco the bass, though Hermione didn't speak further to him.

Draco sipped on his wine, watching her with narrowed eyes.

"What?" he finally said, a little sharper than he intended.

"Pardon?" Hermione asked, politely confused.

"What did I do?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I can tell you're upset."

Hermione paused. Harry and Ron never noticed when she was upset.

"Nothing," she said lightly. Then without meaning to go on, "You reminded me why we are here, that's all." He leaned toward her over the table, his brow furrowed.

"And why are we here?"

"Because we made a deal," she stated, suddenly feeling stupid for bringing this up. She hated having him know she was upset that this wasn't real.

"Wrong," he breathed. "We are on a date. That's all."

"Only because--"

"Try to enjoy yourself, please," he cut her off. "It is not my intention to force you into anything."

"But all week you've been..." she trailed off, frustrated.

"I have been messing with your head," he finished, meeting her gaze. "That's _all_."

Hermione was silent, chewing nervously on her lower lip. Finally she spoke.

"Do you think this feels weird? Us, I mean?" She was stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes again.

"I think this feels pretty great," he replied firmly. "If you want to go, we can."

"I don't want to go," she whispered.

"Good," he smiled, leaning back in his seat. "I truly am excited to see your reaction to what is going to happen after dinner." At her look of apprehension, he laughed. "One thing, Granger. I meant it. I'm not going to force you into anything. Even though I know you want me, if you don't want it tonight, we won't. It was my hope that tonight would be a brilliant evening, and if things lead in that direction, then so be it. But it wouldn't be worth it if you aren't fully involved."

Hermione swallowed anxiously at his words. He spoke with such maturity and sincerity that she found herself fully involved at just the moment. Once more she had to pull herself back and take a deep breath. He had always been manipulative -- for all she knew this was another scheme, to lead her to a false sense of security.

"I gave you my word," was all she said, hesitant to say more.

"It's up to you," he replied, noncommittal.

"How are you always so sure of yourself?" she blurted, finding that she was unable to hold back most of her thoughts and cursing herself for it. But he simply shrugged.

"Most of it was my upbringing. I was always taught to be confident in myself." Then his eyes glinted. "If you're referring to my sexual confidence, on the other hand..." He smirked as she flushed red.

Just then the food arrived, and the conversation was halted as they both began to eat.

"This is amazing," Hermione groaned as she took a bite of her chicken. Then she noticed his fish. "How is yours?"

"Excellent, thank you," he replied politely. She watched him for a moment; she had never noticed his superb table manners before, and suddenly felt self-conscious.

"May I sample a bite?" she asked, smiling. He grinned back.

"Absolutely not," he replied, taking another bite of his dinner.

"That's rude," she replied, acting affronted.

"Not true. It's animal instinct. I am merely defending what is mine." His eyes were glowing with mischief.

"We aren't wild animals, Malfoy," she reminded him, laughing.

"Speak for yourself," he said gruffly, "at least I can admit what I am."

As he lifted his glass of wine for a sip, Hermione quickly reached across the table with her fork and stabbed a piece of his fish. Moving fast, he set his wine back down and grabbed her hand, attempting to pry the fork from her fingers. Electric warmth flowed through his fingers to hers, and he removed his hand, as if hoping she hadn't felt it as well. Hermione took his distraction to eat the bite of fish.

"You're right, it's delicious," she stated, smiling.

Draco stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowed in thought. Then he leaned across the table and kissed her on the lips, pulling away slightly.

"As you see, I too can take what I want." After another pause, he leaned back, his eyes malicious. "I guess now you and I are even."

Hermione flushed, stunned, and went back to quietly eating her chicken, deciding his fish was delicious but not worth it. His unexpected actions hit her stronger than she wanted him to know, and they completed their dinner in silence.

"I think we were talking about sexuality," he suddenly said as he set down his fork, as if nothing had occurred.

"We were not," she protested, but he went on regardless.

"It's all about knowing yourself, Granger. And about practice." He quirked his eyebrows, smiling. "And practice, practice... some more practice..."

"I get it," Hermione nearly choked, absolutely mortified at the conversation.

"The things I could teach you," he murmured, meeting her eyes. They shone with something that Hermione felt deep in her core. "You're so... pure, Granger. I could make your head spin and your toes curl. Don't doubt that I could."

If Hermione had felt uncomfortable before, it was nothing compared to now, with the way he was gazing at her. It was positively indecent! She was wary he was going to pounce her from across the table. But she couldn't tear her eyes from his, not for her life.

It was the most intense staring contest she had ever been a part of. Her heart was thumping erratically and her stomach was tossing around ridiculously. The electric pulse she sometimes felt while in his presence was roaring in her ears.

His brow furrowed, eyes half lidded, Draco cleared his throat and jolted them both from the trance.

"Perhaps we ought to get some air," he said softly, finally looking away from her.

"Yes," Hermione swallowed, her mind reeling. "That's a good idea."

Draco thanked Rosmerta, and Hermione found she could do little other than attempt to force a smile of thanks. She walked stiffly toward the door, fighting an urge to run.

But he beat her to the door, holding it open for her and then following with a possessive hand to her lower back.

It had been relatively warm when they left Hogwarts, so Hermione hadn't expected it to be nearly as cold as it was when they walked out into the night air. The air was crisp and there were light flakes of snow falling to the ground. She failed to fight back a shiver and Draco noticed, eyeing her speculatively.

"Didn't you bring a coat?" he questioned.

"I didn't think it would get this cold," she said, embarrassed. She wasn't about to admit that she had simply forgot. "I'll just perform a warming spell on myself."

"Have mine," he stated, shrugging out of his coat before she could even draw her wand. Hermione was thrown off. It was an unnecessary and intimate gesture for him to offer her his coat, one which she never would have expected him to make.

"Then you'll be cold," she contradicted. "I'll be fine."

"I'm plenty warm. Slytherin, remember? Cold-blooded and the like," he murmured, and Hermione turned to see him smirking. His grey eyes were sparkling, and his blond hair was accumulating snow. She found herself momentarily breathless.

"Only if you insist," she hesitated.

"I do," he said firmly, settling the subject. "Can you believe it's snowing? We've got a match next weekend." He frowned at the snow in disapproval. "I hope it melts by then."

Hermione rolled her eyes; it was exactly something Harry or Ron would say. Of course then they would buck up and play anyway. She slipped the coat on, and realized it smelled very much like him. Distinctly male, and highly intoxicating.

"It is nearly November," she reminded him. Hermione didn't mind snow. Then again, she had never flown a magical broom in a blizzard. Most Quidditch players she knew had. "And what is this big surprise?"

"You'll see soon enough," he said lightly. He was leading her toward the village square. There were a handful of people gathered, and Hermione craned her neck to see what was going on. "Don't peek," he scolded in her ear.

Then the square came into view and Hermione froze, her jaw open.

"Is that... the Weird Sisters?" She gaped at him. There was a band setting up their equipment on a makeshift stage.

"Well, yeah..." he murmured, looking at her pensively. "I thought you liked them. You know, back in fourth year."

"In fourth? What do you mean?"

"At the Yule Ball."

"You were paying attention to me at the Yule Ball?" She scrunched her nose at the thought.

"Granger, there wasn't a bloke in that hall that didn't notice you at the Yule Ball," he scoffed and she blushed, looking away. "Was I wrong?"

"They're one of my favourites! But..." She was still gaping at him. Draco laughed. "But how did you manage this? They're demanded all over Europe!"

Draco shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"It was nothing, really. I've known the singer for a number of years. I called in a favour."

Just then the singer looked up and saw Draco. He waved and then winked at Hermione. She swallowed heavily. He really _had_ made a great effort on this date.

Something definitely wasn't adding up to her inquisitive brain. She couldn't understand why Draco Malfoy would go to such extreme lengths to coax her to bed. _Her_, of all people! Her, Hermione Granger, Muggle-born best friend to Harry Potter. And _him_ with the Death Eater for a father.

Regardless of what else he said, he was up to something. He was _always_ up to something. She narrowed her eyes.

But it was only then that she noticed the hand he had placed on her back was now protectively around her waist, and it felt natural, as if it belonged there. At the traitorous thought a shiver ran through her spine.

He pulled her closer, imagining her to be still cold, and Hermione felt her gaze soften. Just maybe, there was the slightest chance he didn't have some sort of ulterior motive.

The band started up, and Hermione was suddenly in awe of being able to bear spontaneous witness to one of her favourite wizarding bands. She couldn't help but grin at him and he smiled wryly back.

They found seats on the ledge of a fountain in the square, settling in for the show. Hermione noticed Draco didn't remove his arm from her back, and found she didn't mind.

She was thoroughly enjoying herself. Partway through, during a ballad, she had stopped caring what Draco thought and was mouthing the words along with the singer, her eyes closed, moving to the music.

Suddenly he snorted next to her and Hermione's eyes snapped open, shooting him a half-hearted glare. He just stared back at her, looking openly amused.

"Do you mind?" she asked scathingly, turning back away to ignore him. He wasn't apologetic in the least.

"It's a good song," he shrugged. "I'll give you that. Not my favourite of theirs."

"Oh? And what is?" she questioned, eyes narrowed.

"_Stay With Me, Witch_," he murmured. "You might not know it."

"That was one of their earliest songs," Hermione replied, shocked. "_No_ one knows their early work."

"I do," he replied, lips curving into a smirk. "And evidently you do, as well. To be entirely honest with you, I think their songs before anyone had heard of them had so much more to them. I prefer that era."

Hermione was staring at him, dumbfounded. "Because their musical compositions were much more complex! I've always thought that same thing."

"I wasn't aware you were so well versed in music. That must be the first time you and I have agreed on something," Draco murmured, and Hermione flushed, attempting to fight back a smile.

"You're probably right. And for the record, for being as against dating as you are, you did a pretty good job with this," she informed him. He laughed sharply.

"You're not so bad, Granger. When you aren't trying to bite my head off, that is," he continued, looking over at her.

"I'm so flattered," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"You should be," he said seriously, and the change in tone made Hermione lift her eyes to meet his. His grey eyes were darkened, and he had leaned in slightly. She swallowed heavily, and the electric current that had passed between them at dinner was suddenly back with a vengeance. "You aren't like any other girl at Hogwarts."

"You just noticed that now?" she murmured, too transfixed to infuse the comment with the intended level of derision.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, his voice dropping lower. He lifted his free hand and ran it across her cheek, into her hair. "I noticed that ages ago. I just never realized how much of a good thing it was."

"That's good to know," Hermione said softly, distracted by his lips, so near and so tempting. She lifted a hand to reach around the back of his neck. She applied just enough pressure for him to understand, and he closed the space remaining between them in an instant.

Hermione knew, instinctively, as his lips met hers that this kiss was unlike any other they had shared. It wasn't demanding, but was soft and yielding, as his mouth slowly worked against hers. The electric current took up residence in her brain, working as a dull throb, encouraging her to escalate the contact.

His tongue swept hers, and the low ache exploded, turning into something forceful and intoxicating. She had no doubt he had felt it too, for suddenly he pulled her closer, both hands in her hair, kissing her deeper with more ferocity, desperation, unbridled passion.

Hermione forgot herself, mirroring his level of need as she responded urgently to the kiss. Nothing mattered any longer, not the war and the Death Eaters or her friends or schoolwork... or the surrounding people... who were getting louder...

Then Draco tore himself from her, his breathing ragged, and she knew she must look similar to him, lust burning deep within his grey eyes.

The concert had ended and the villagers were starting to leave. The band began to pack up their instruments.

Draco hadn't looked away from her. "Do you want to meet the band?" he asked in a low voice, almost reluctantly.

Hermione bit her lip, glancing away from him. "I'm sure they're nice people and all," she murmured, shrugging. "Maybe another time."

Draco exhaled in relief. Neither needed to point out the fact that there probably would not be another time.

"I've booked a room at the inn." He observed her closely. "If you, um, if you want."

Her body was still singing with pure awareness of him. She didn't know what else she could even say. She swallowed heavily, trying not to show her sudden fear. She nodded slightly.

"Relax," he whispered. "It's getting late anyway."

He started walking in the direction of the inn, and Hermione trailed slowly behind him. He turned to watch her, his eyes narrowed slightly. He reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze, and then entwining his fingers with hers.

Encouraged by his actions and the warmth in his touch, Hermione met his pace, shoving her nerves to the back of her mind. They were nearly to the inn, however, when he sharply pulled her between two buildings and Hermione found herself pressed mercilessly into his hard muscled body.

"What are you doing?" she asked, breathless.

"Following a time honoured Slytherin tradition," he murmured. He paused, looking back at the main street. "Avoiding unnecessary questions."

Hermione followed his gaze, and gasped. McGonagall and Flitwick were walking by, discussing obnoxious hoodlums making a ruckus in the square. McGonagall's words.

Hermione couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips. Draco shushed her but was smirking as well, sharing her amusement. She understood his explanation-- though they had signed out in the ledger, it would be difficult to explain what they were still doing in Hogsmeade, hours later, together.

But being in such proximity with him certainly was doing nothing for Hermione's already wavering self-control. The two professors had stopped, too close to their hiding spot to risk a getaway, and she was forced to endure more of this absolute feeling of his body on hers.

She supposed the situation could have been worse. After all, she didn't particularly need to worry about fighting off her attraction for him when they were already on their way to an inn. If they managed to get there that was.

Hermione shifted her position against him, growing uncomfortable with her back to a stone wall. Draco hissed, his eyes darkening. She felt a jolt deep in her stomach.

"Sorry," she whispered, feeling her cheeks flame in horrified embarrassment.

"No you aren't," he whispered back, eyes flashing. He moved closer, intentionally pushing his hips into hers, and Hermione all but whimpered at the powerful friction. Then he stepped back, looking to the road. "Let's go."

Hermione blinked while he walked away. She hadn't noticed the two professors continue on. So much for keeping a level head.

She caught up with him for the rest of the walk to the inn, where he was observing her closely.

Draco checked them in, picking up the key to the room he had reserved, while Hermione stood nervously worrying her lower lip.

Once in the room he turned to her, assessing her closely, his lips pursed.

"You don't want to do this," he finally murmured. Hermione shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. She was doing her best to avoid looking at the bed.

"We had a deal," she nearly choked out, wishing for all the world that she could fall through the floor. This was so... awkward.

She suddenly found herself wondering why she had wanted this at all, and why she had forced him to jump through such outrageous hoops. Sure, she was attracted to him, but to think she had bargained her body for a carefree evening out with him. Granted, the date had been her way to believe that she was not entirely surrendering her morals to him.

Somehow the logic she had been following was now evading her.

"Yes, we did," he replied softly. His eyes on her were dark, but cold. He smirked just slightly. "And now we see-- does the Gryffindor follow through or does she back down and run?"

She narrowed her eyes at the thinly veiled challenge. Her blood flared just a little at his statement.

"Honestly, Granger," he took a step forward, "It's just sex. It isn't as if there is any love lost between the two of us. And we have done this before."

"I know," she whispered, suddenly very much affected by his proximity. Could she actually do this? He was right, the date had been enjoyable- he was not completely insufferable at all times, she had learned- but it hadn't meant anything. Maybe what she thought she felt for him was merely physical after all, and she just didn't have enough experience with men to tell the difference.

She didn't voice the thought that _last_ time he had taken her by complete surprise and shagged her against a bookshelf. _This_ time had required considerably more forethought. And by undertaking the act intentionally, for a second time, she could no longer claim temporary insanity to herself.

But he was right, she supposed... She had very little to gain by holding out after having come this far, and even less to show for it. He had taken care of that, when he had taken her virginity. And she knew just how _good_ he could make her feel.

Draco was still watching her, less than patient, his eyelids heavy. He raised an eyebrow as she met his eyes again.

Hermione boldly took a step toward him, chancing a glance behind her at the bed. She swallowed heavily, grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.

Draco didn't need encouragement, as he snaked an arm around her back, pulling her closer. He deepened the kiss immediately, his tongue meeting hers with an intensity she hadn't expected. But she caught the message: she had made him wait plenty long enough already.

She found her body reacting to him as it always did, found herself almost desperately involved in him. Felt her fingers trembling as she removed his sweater, her hands running tentatively over his bare chest and stomach. His wild reaction as he grabbed her tighter and kissed her still harder, only breaking to remove her top, leaving her in just her bra.

She felt her bare flesh sear at the contact to his, and it felt amazing. The last time had been a rushed blur, and this felt so much more intimate.

He pulled away, gazing at her with heavily-lidded and lust-filled eyes. Hermione had never noticed how long his eyelashes were. He stared until she grew uncomfortable and insecure, wishing she could cover back up. But she met his eyes defiantly, hers narrowing out of habit.

"Lie down, Granger," he finally murmured, not looking away from her. Feeling compelled, she did as she was told.

How could she ever have thought that this was the same thing as that day in the library? Nerves were firing through her spine, her heart was pounding in her throat, and she had to fight every instinct she had to run. She couldn't do this.

But then he was above her, trapping her to the bed, his eyes smouldering into hers. His expression softened- perhaps she looked as terrified as she felt- and he leaned in to nuzzle her neck, his lips playing softly over the sensitive flesh. She felt his hands near her hips, fidgeting with the waist of her skirt.

His lips met hers again, in the same way he had kissed her outside in the square, and her heart started pounding in a completely different way as she kissed him back. It was tender and heart-wrenching and Hermione was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that no, this was not physical after all. She felt _something _for him, though she couldn't claim to know what it was.

She was instantly filled with dread. This was _not_ supposed to happen. There was no way she could do this, knowing she felt something other than pure attraction for him. To herself, to him. Why on earth hadn't she thought of this before she was half-naked beneath him?

"What is it?" he drawled in her ear, and Hermione belatedly realized she was no longer reacting to him, so frozen was her brain. Her eyes were wide as they met his, and he frowned, his brows furrowed. "Tell me, Granger."

"I--" she began but broke off, swallowing heavily. What could she say? She turned away from him, wishing away the hot burn in her cheeks. Wishing she could vanish.

"Look at me," he said, his tone a little sharper than before. She couldn't look at him, not knowing what she had to do. He went on anyway. "You know you can still back out."

He said the words as if they were physically painful.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, barely hearing her own voice. He took a long, deep breath, and as he looked down at her his eyes flashed. She knew, no matter his words at dinner, he had never expected her not to follow through.

"Don't be," he finally muttered, a wry smile on his features. "You out-played even me on this one. I'm no monster, Hermione."

She wanted to be shocked that he had said her name. She wanted to deny that she was playing any sort of game. Who would play a game like this! She wished she didn't care what happened to her heart at the expense of her desires.

Instead she watched as he pulled himself away, to sleep instead on the couch. She laid awake, her body incredibly aware of his presence, somehow knowing that he wasn't asleep either.

But she couldn't bring herself to call him back. Not when she wasn't certain what she wanted. Not when her mind was so completely torn apart.

When she woke the next morning he was already gone.

When she next saw him in class, his eyes held nothing but coldness, which she felt in her soul, long after he had looked away.


End file.
